


Event Horizon

by ComposerEgg



Category: Subarashiki Kono Sekai | The World Ends With You
Genre: 2nd person POV, Angst, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Neku's pov, liberal usage of metaphors, unhealthy relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-07
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-29 14:59:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8494381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComposerEgg/pseuds/ComposerEgg
Summary: After the Long Game, Joshua and Neku started hanging out, but the Composer of a city is a mighty force to be around, and there is a shift in gravity that pulls Neku in.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Self-indulgent JoshNeku writing because I needed to write _something_ and this happened. Unbeta'd and written between 11pm and 12:30am.

There is fire in his blood. A city’s Music poured into his veins, his heart maintaining tempo as his every movement flows with the melody. His eyes are radiant, they glow like every light in Shibuya is shining out of them, from the nightlights to neon signs.

The beat is what pulls you in, draws you close. It’s a whirlwind of electrifying sound, a black hole and you are closing in on the event horizon. There is still time to turn back, but the temptation to see what’s beyond is too strong.

There are days when you laze around in his apartment, watching tin pin and trying to capture the curls of his hair, the specific shade of violet that is his eyes, to keep on the pages in your sketchbook. You end up leaning against him, and you can feel the pulse of the city beneath his skin, the power just beneath the surface. The symphony that fills your ears at this contact promises creation, beauty in the form of your art flooding Shibuya, if you offer yourself up to the city in return.

Joshua is quick to pull away on those days, when the temptation fills your head. He taps you on the nose and says that you don’t want to do that, you don’t need to make that deal.

On other days, you find him at his throne, form wispy, pure Imagination floating off of him and dispersing into the air. This is the only time you get to see his wings, white feathered limbs stretched out behind him, arching above his head and ten feet out in each direction. It’s on these days you find yourself on his lap, tracing over the malleable surface that constitutes his skin, no longer paper but plasma, and you drag your fingers over it to watch the ripples.

On these days, he doesn’t turn you away, and when the city offers you that temptation again, you allow yourself to give in. Your lips meet his, metallic and cold at first contact, but they soon warm and no longer bite like a razor’s edge. He tangles a hand in your hair, his other busy tracing symbols on your back, and you’re in too deep to question what they mean. Wrapped in his aura, drinking in the essence of his city, your city, _him_ , you burn, you’re overflowing with Imagination, you can do _anything._

It comes to an end too soon. He disappears out from under you, and you are left alone on the cold throne, silver lines etched into your skin by his nails and lungs heavy from breathing in his atmosphere. You return home and pour your Soul onto sheets of paper, sketches of anything your mind can create. There is no time to go back and work in detail, your mind moving too fast, and you have to get it out, pour this out or you will explode from the pressure built up within you. Any blank space available becomes a canvass, there is ink on the walls of your room, paint on your skin, scribbles in pen over your desk, and the pages inside your books have bled through with the dye from markers, but it’s still not enough. You end up passing out while ripping at your skin, you can’t remember if it was to remove the paint or to release the pressure, but when you awake the heat within has died down to a simmer and the paint is still there.

 

You are courting a black hole, dancing in its orbit, and you know the event horizon is drawing near when you no longer need to feel his skin under yours to hear the Music. The notes twist around your brain, entangling you in their melodies and dragging you in, dragging you back to their source. The urge to be close to him is like an itch beneath your skin, aggravated when you see him, but more demanding of your attention when he’s out of sight.

You love him. It takes you a month without him to realize you love him, and the first thing you do when you see him again is tangle your arms around his body and press your lips against his.

 

There is fire in your blood. A city’s Music forcing her way into your veins, and along the way the dead boy at the heart, in _your_ heart, realizes he’s made a mistake. You’ve already crossed the event horizon, always feeling the gravitational pull to stay close, but now the black hole you’ve become so tied to is trying to spit you out, force you away. You understand why Joshua wants to pull away, because what you have? It can’t be healthy, but you’re also too far gone to care.

Maybe you should care, but you don’t want to go back to how you were before. You’re warm, and the frenzied scrawl of art on every surface you can find has died down as you’ve learned to cope with the itch the Music has left under your skin. Art pours from you, new ideas carved into your mind with every new thought, food and sleep no longer appealing enough to pull you away from the stacks of paper you have at your side.

 

One day you wake up to find your art supplies gone, all the images you’ve drawn gone with them. There’s a chill under your skin, and you worry you’ve gone deaf until hear the noises from outside your room. The past year is a blur, memories fuzzy, static filling your head when you try to focus on any detail.

There is a text from an unknown number on your phone, reading _I’m sorry, Neku, this was the best way I could fix all the harm I’ve done to you_.

You’re left with the impression that you danced too close to the flames of a forest fire, but now that the warmth it offered is nowhere to be found, you might as well be in the Arctic Circle with this cold in your bones. You courted a black hole, you crossed the event horizon, but it decided to spit you out, and you’re not sure if you’d rather go back to being stuck or see what you can make of being adrift in empty space.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading this thing I did. If you liked it, I'd like if you could give me a kudos, and I'd **love** it if you gave me a comment!


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